


Waterproof

by kenzimone



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-03
Updated: 2005-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenzimone/pseuds/kenzimone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's a teeth clashing against teeth, sex in the backseat of your car kind of girl. No Southern Baptist boy is going to change that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waterproof

She's a bitch. The others have a girls' night without her, and she spends the evening in her room painting her nails an angry red. She watches _I Love Lucy_ reruns and realizes she hates the show.

Sometimes she thinks she might have a crush on him. Which would be okay, because every girl has a crush on someone like him at least once in their life, only she hasn't had a crush since eighth grade and even then there was nothing innocent about it. She's a teeth clashing against teeth, sex in the backseat of your car kind of girl. No Southern Baptist boy is going to change that.

She tells him she learned to sing in a bar. She also tells herself that by lying to him she's proving something, although that's what she normally does anyway; lie.

She was four, in her nightgown, singing Dolly Parton in front of her parents' full length mirror while her mother brushed her hair.

He works with disabled kids, and can't help but gush about them to anyone who'll listen. She makes quick quips, says things that she regrets before falling asleep at night, and enjoys the way his ears turn red. He holds his tongue and asks her how her day has been. 'Fabulous,' she tells him, because she made him notice.

She hates him too at times, because he's better and _gooder_ than anyone she's ever met before. His mother sends him tapes of sermons from his church and sometimes she pauses outside his door as he listens to them, her lips mimicking his in soundless amens before she realizes what she's doing. She steals away to her own room to look over the program for the next concert.

Sometimes she feels lonely and cries herself to sleep. The next morning, he's the one they send to wake her. She lashes out at anyone disturbing her rest but he's the one exception to the rule, though they're as oblivious as to why as she is. He calls her name, but she stays motionless until his fingers curl around her shoulder and she lets the gentle shake rouse her. After he leaves she lies in bed and tries to understand why such an innocent touch leaves her close to tears once again.

America loves him, and he's clueless as to why. She joins him on stage under the burning lights, watching as he tentatively tries to embrace the love offered him. Sometimes she finds an excuse to carefully place a hand on his back or arm or shoulder, teasing him as the audience roars for more. He squirms under the attention and never notices how her touch lingers far longer than is necessary.

When the tour ends she prepares for her next adventure. She packs her bags the day before they're to split up, and interrupts him the next morning as he packs his. He welcomes her with a sad smile, but she wants none of it and crushes her lips against his.

There's nothing teeth clashing against teeth or sex in the backseat of his car about it, because he gives in and leans backwards as she pushes forward. It's a closed mouth kiss, but she's still closer than ever before and she can still smell him and taste him; a faint whiff of plain soap mixed with the distinct taste of macaroni and cheese.

She imagines that perhaps his devout Baptist mama's boy goodness will rub off on her and tentatively risks a touch to his hair, marveling as he allows it.

When she pulls away and opens her eyes she sees herself mirrored in his, floating in an ocean of light blue understanding and maybe a hint of sadness. She whispers a hoarse thank you, pressing one last chaste kiss on his lips before grabbing her bags and heading downstairs to the car she's made sure is waiting for her. She doesn't look back.

Thirty minutes later, in the airport restrooms, she reapplies her mascara, telling herself to buy waterproof next time.

When his CD comes out she buys a copy, searching the liner notes for her name.

She's never even mentioned.


End file.
